Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes (53 page)

Lara quickly introduced me to the stage managers and then ushered me to the V.I.P. booth, for the show was about to begin. This was the only remaining dinner theatre in town, and the audience sat around little tables and in booths, unlike traditional theatre seating. This show room only seated about nine hundred people—so small compared to the Grand Palace in Branson. I got two free drinks with my ticket and was glad to have them. What was I getting myself into? The printed program gave me a clue:

For more than 60 years Radio City Music Hall has been home to the nation’s most spectacular live entertainment. Now, for the first time in its history, Radio City is taking the greatest scenes ever produced on its famed New York stage directly to the Flamingo Hilton Las Vegas, presenting them together in one special evening. Tonight, you will experience a new look at the greatest dancing, scenery, costumes, and show-stopping entertainment enjoyed for years on the Great Stage at Radio City. Here are the highlights, back-to-back, in an unprecedented array of pageantry and spectacle. So ... sit back and celebrate the magic of Radio City entertainment—a night you will never forget!

The description sounded so impressive! I scanned the program to see how many numbers the Rockettes performed. I had just tallied eight Rockette numbers when the house lights dimmed and the announcement about “no flash photography and video recording” was made in English and then Japanese. An arc of lights framed the stage. Then, as the music—an arrangement of “Come On Get Happy” (made famous by Judy Garland)—swelled, the curtain opened, exposing a long sign, running the length of the stage, made of red lights spelling out “THE ROCKETTES.” Below the sign, forty of the longest, most gorgeous, bare legs in the world stood posed, beveled, and ready to tap dance. The sign lifted up into the rafters, and the upper halves of the World Famous Rockettes were revealed in all their sequined and feathered glory. 

Holy cow! They’re practically nude! Are those bikinis?
I nearly choked on my bitter, cheap red table wine. The costume was essentially a rhinestone-studded bikini with some long, red feathers going up the back like an unopened peacock and an elongated red sequined top hat also adorned with long feathers to make the Rockettes look even taller.
Every little flaw is going to show! You can’t hide anything in those costumes.
My mind spontaneously began creating a new workout regimen: seven hundred sit-ups a day, four hundred push-ups, three hundred butt squeezes, and five hundred leg lifts. I was going to have to up my game if I wanted to look as gorgeous as the other gals.

I could hardly focus on the choreography, as I kept recognizing my friends, picking them out of the crowd like a
Where’s Waldo
book. There was no missing the girl I was to replace with her basketball stomach protruding between her bikini top and bottom. She was all skin and bones and boobs and baby. I couldn’t believe how bold she was to dance pregnant in a bikini on a stage in Las Vegas for all the world to see. I could never do that, I thought.

At the end of the number, as the Rockettes exited kicking off into the wings, none other than Susan Anton made her grand entrance. She was currently filling the show’s “star spot”—a singer who had reached enough stardom to be a box-office draw. This star was usually contracted for three months and then a new star would take her or his place. Susan Anton—the larger-than-life, beautiful, blond, singer, actress, and second runner-up to Miss America (1970)—filled the spot and then some. At 5 feet 11 inches tall, this glamazon seemed to tower above the Rockettes. Her mere size made her a stunning presence; she owned the stage.

Susan skillfully belted out “Too Tall to Be a Rockette,” her strong, savvy voice steeped in the style of vintage Vegas headliners like Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra (in fact, she toured with Sinatra in her younger years). Her jazzy vibe made me want to be at a classy nightclub in a slinky red dress sipping martinis alongside a handsome gentleman in a tuxedo. She was a well-seasoned performer having been, as her program bio reported, “entertaining television, theatre, film and nightclub audiences for almost 20 years.” This versatile artist had earned gold records and a Golden Globe nomination, toured with Kenny Rogers, co-starred on Broadway in
The Will Rogers Follies
, and even starred in her own television series. For three years, she had been on the cast of
Baywatch
—the international hit television series, starring David Hasselhoff, about Los Angeles County lifeguards who spend their days patrolling beaches in red swimsuits that accentuate their toned, tan, sexy bodies.

I remembered her first and foremost from my teenage years; my date to my 9th grade dance had a poster of Susan (baring her flawless physique in a Hawaiian bikini top and sarong) hanging on his bedroom wall. She was every guy’s fantasy, and every girl wanted to look like her. But tonight Susan was no longer simply a two-dimensional sex symbol in a pinup; she was my real live coworker!

After Susan’s solo, the six young men comprising the male ensemble joined her for a tribute to Fred Astaire followed by the Rockettes returning in gold and silver gowns to perform “The Gold and Silver Waltz.” In this elegant, balletic, Sally Rand-style dance, the women waved huge, white-feathered fans. They glided gracefully around stage using the fans to create beautiful visual effects, like a flower blooming and closing up its petals again for the night, or a circular, flowing wave of water cresting and falling. They had obviously had solid classical ballet training. Having been a devoted ballerina myself for many years, I was eager to join the lovely ladies.

As is customary in Vegas, in between big production numbers specialty acts often perform, giving the rest of the cast time to change costumes. Our first act, Nino Frediani, a diminutive Portuguese juggler, now exploded onto the stage. He was a power-packed fireball, his wispy, black, curly hair shooting out of his head like out-of-control flames. The man spoke seven languages, all with an Italian accent. Nino’s specialty was tossing small hoops over the heads of standing audience members like that carnival game where you try to land the ring on a Coke bottle. When Nino said he wanted to “ring your neck” he meant it literally. The successfully nailed audience members would then reciprocate by trying to Frisbee-toss the hoop to encircle Nino. They were all terrible shots, of course, and to milk all the hilarity out of the situation that he could, Nino would scream and run like hell across the stage, diving like a baseball player determined to make the catch. In Nino’s case, however, it was his head and not his arm that was outstretched. Wild applause ensued as his head poked through the flying hoop and his mission was accomplished.

“How would anyone ever think to do such a strange thing for a living?” I wondered. My question was answered when I read his bio and learned that he had been born into a traveling circus family. Having myself come from a highly academic family with Ph.D.s and Masters degrees, I felt pressure to go to graduate school. Had he felt pressure to walk the tightrope, swing from a trapeze, or stand on an elephant’s head?

Following Nino’s crazy human ring toss was the “Big Band” number, hosted by Ms. Anton. She sang a snippet of “Sentimental Journey,” then served up some witty banter, as four couples appeared—the girls in 1940s-style red, white, and blue short dresses and the boys in World War II dress khakis. Susan then emceed a dance contest in which each couple tried to outdo the other with flips and spins and tricks. In the background, the Rockettes formed a fake band sitting on platforms. They did choreography with their various instruments—drums, trombones, trumpets, and saxophones—while watching and cheering on the couples. It was hard to tell if they were really playing or not. They wore short red and blue dresses with wigs and hats that reminded me of Lucille Ball in the
I Love Lucy
TV show. 

As the couples left, the “band” came down off their stands and did a forties-style, cutesy tap number. In the middle of the number, the music stopped, and an a cappella challenge tap took place. The Rockettes’ silver shoes moved fast and furiously. The steps got more and more complicated, the tempo speeding up to a frenzied riff at the end. It sounded really difficult. After the applause, the music resumed, and the rest of the number seemed harmless enough.

The second specialty act to make an appearance was Stacy Moore and His “Mess of Mutts.” Having been established by his uncle in 1939, the act was billed as the “oldest performing dog show in the country today.” Stacy’s mess of dogs, about ten in all, were rescued from Humane Societies. These endearing mongrels easily won over the audience with their spectacular tricks: mailing letters, jumping rope, jumping through hoops, and even balancing standing upright on hind legs on a tightrope. Adorable!

Ravel’s “Bolero” provided a Spanish twist to the evening, the Rockettes sizzling in tight, red sequined, floor-length skirts, matching red-sequined halter tops, and oversized red saucer hats that looked much like the top half of the planet Saturn. The dancing seemed simple enough for me to pick up quickly. Also part of the number were three “Infantas”—a designation given to daughters of the king of Spain or Portugal. These regal women were buckled into enormous, ornate, horizontally protruding skirts and did simple formation changes (which was all they could do in those monstrous structures) and demure choreography with their small, decorative hand fans. To add even more excitement, a soloist appeared in an even sexier costume and enchanted the audience with her exotic flamenco-inspired moves, as the remainder of the Rockettes danced around her. Since when did Rockettes use soloists? I was transported by the emotionally moving music. The snare drums’ repetitive rhythm in three-quarter time kept the dramatic intensity pulsating throughout the piece. Its smoldering, romantic melody was etched in my memory from the passionate 1984 Olympic gold-medal winning, ice-dancing performance by Torvill and Dean.

As the Rockettes bolted off stage to change costumes once again, the third specialty act appeared like magic. Actually, they were magic. Tim Kole, the magician, was a black-leather wearing, dark, foreboding, David Copperfield lookalike. In stark contrast, his beautiful blond sidekick, Jenny-Lynn, was an angel in white. As often happens to magicians’ assistants, she found herself lying flat-back on a table. The menacing music swelled, and we all realized something exciting was about to happen. Sure enough, using his miraculous powers, Mr. Kole somehow levitated her clear above her perch! Knowing some audience members would still be skeptics, he dramatically waved his hands over and under the airlifted assistant to prove there were no wires or hidden support. She really appeared to be defying gravity!

Tim supernaturally brought the mysteriously floating woman back down to earth, and, as they left the stage, the familiar tune of “Parade of the Wooden Soldiers” began to play. Having spent so many nights with that music, I knew it better than I knew my own husband. Soldier huts appeared on both sides of the stage, and the Rockettes, dressed as toy soldiers, hobbled out. My eyes kept doing a double take as the formations were slightly different from those I had done in Branson. That is going to goof me up, I predicted. It’s hard to relearn something after you’ve already performed it another way hundreds of times. I closely monitored the fall.
The fourth girl sat, the middle section is trying to muscle it, and the back section is getting killed. Typical.

After “Soldiers,” Susan returned to sing a beautiful, belty ballad in front of the curtain. When she finished, the curtain rose. Running the length of the stage was a series of gigantic light-bulb and diamond-studded mirrors in front of which the Rockettes stood frozen, reflecting their own gracefully poised images. This was the grand finale entitled “Rockettes in Diamonds”—a ten-minute-long showstopper bursting with kicks. The Rockettes wore dreamy costumes by Bob Mackie, the acclaimed designer famed for dressing many of the most glamorous and captivating superstars of all time, including one of my favorites—Cher! (This Emmy Award-collecting “sultan of sequins” had built a fashion empire by becoming the man to turn to if you intended to turn heads, light a room on fire, and make audience members audibly gasp at a glimpse of you. Our outfits were not as outrageous, daring, or belly-baring as Cher’s, but I was over the moon at wearing Bob Mackie, nonetheless.) They were essentially elegant black leotards embellished with loads of silver and diamond studs. The leotards were sleeveless on one side, sexily revealing a bare shoulder, while the other arm was completely concealed. A swag of diaphanous black material dripping with silver beads draped from the covered shoulder to the opposite wrist. The headpiece was an exotic, turban-style hat with the required, height-enhancing feathers. The costumes sparkled like a star-studded night and revealed lots of leg.

The music started out slowly, the girls emulating it with some flowing moves and snappy poses. It wasn’t until I noticed that the images of some of the girls weren’t quite matching up that I realized they weren’t looking in mirrors after all. They were looking at a second row of Rockettes pretending to be their mirror images. As the tempo increased, the music signaling that something exciting was about to happen, the front row of ladies moved forward and their “images” stepped through the “mirror”—actually just an open frame—breaking the illusion. As if that weren’t surprising enough, more and more Rockettes kept filing out through mirrors. Soon the stage was filled with Rockettes.

By this time, the music was loud and lively, and the choreography followed suit. There seemed to be a kick every other second. I kept waiting for down time, but they kept on kicking, and the number seemed to go on forever. At the end, all the girls chasséd down to the front of the stage for the final kickline. I applauded wildly and smiled profusely knowing that as much as I was watching my friends up there, they were watching me.